


The Family Dinner

by Dream_Writer_RRL



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29663070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Writer_RRL/pseuds/Dream_Writer_RRL
Summary: The Kressler's are a happy family. Mrs Kressler is a devout and amiable woman and the town they live in is protected from the war going on with the savages.But when the family's struck by tragedy, the mother's mind gets lost in grief and the dead rise to the incessant calls of the living what are the kid's to do? Who will survive?But more importantly, how?If you're in for a quick fix, and a nice Enid Blyton style night-read then you've come to the right place.





	1. Chapter 1: The Late Arrivals

It was an eve like any other in Sutherland, the tall yet narrow house of brown bricks cast long and dreary shadows on the wide Wailsbury street. The atmosphere was quiet and cosy for the average citizen, unless one were caught strolling outside any time after sundown. For them, it would mean a cold and restless night under lock & key while 2 gentlemen, a gruff gendarme and an equally frustrated constable, interrogated their reasons for strolling.

Fortunately for the Kressler family, who were situated only a few houses away from such stationed individuals, these circumstances were as absent as the activity outside.

Their home was like every other on that street; a straight and narrow short hallway melded the entrance with the kitchen, a small dining room was connected to the kitchen via a large common room where a fireplace was kept lit most autumn and all winter. Just beyond the kitchen - a u-turn from the common room entrance - was the stairway and washing closet. The stairway connected the common room of the first floor to the hallway of the second floor. The hallway was divided into four rooms, two on each side, and a fifth stood at its end serving as the family’s restroom.

But what made this average home unique was the cosy interiors of the dining and common room, the picturesque patterned tiles of the kitchen and front entrance, the colourful wallpapers that lined the entire top floor, and of course the people that lived there.

Mrs Kressler was the head of the household, an average woman who opted to paint beige over blue for the dining room walls. Under her charge were Miranda, George, Malissa, and Jameson with Miranda being a mirror image of her mother as the eldest daughter and Jameson being a mirror to his father being the youngest of the family. For the past several months, the Kressler family was joined by their Gusparand cousins; Bastille and Hastille Kressler.

On this particular evening, while the children played board games near the lit hearth Mrs Kressler stood dynamic over the stove, constantly moving between checking on the children and checking on the pot.

“Miranda,” she called out. “Is Jameson warm enough? Why don’t you move closer to the fire?”

“Honestly, mother,” Miranda sighed exasperatedly. She swiped her forehead and displayed the hand towards Mrs Kressler. “I’m glistening with sweat being so near it. Jameson has a sheen of it, if you would just look.”

“Miranda, if I constantly looked over to check on you kids while cooking then I’d also have to constantly put up with your moans and whines while eating.” Mrs Kressler pointed out. “Would you rather have _this_ delicacy in a pan and do as I say or have anything less than my best and have me distracted?”

“The best!” Hastille and Bastille immediately called out.

“Exactly,” Mrs Kressler said, pleased with herself. Unaware of the looks her eldest was giving her nephews.

“When do you reckon Uncle Mathias will be home?” Bastille asked, ignoring Miranda's glares.

“Daddy!” Jameson called out, throwing his hands and clapping.

“Not much longer dear,” Mrs Kressler replied. “He was a car mechanic before the conscription so perhaps a few days after Mrs Burton’s husband returns? Although Mr Burton was his manager so he may also be returning alongside him. We’ll know when one get’s here.”

“Hm, I’d like to finally meet him,” Hastille said. “Hey, if I apply do you think they’ll accept me?”

“Maybe-” George tried to answer.

“-Absolutely not, your much too fat!” Miranda interrupted with a huff, ignoring the frown Mrs Kressler sent her way. “And besides, only brave and honourable men can join, not cowards who leave young maidens to fend for themselves.”

“But you saw how big that thing was!?” Hastille said. “It was clearly a matter of life and death, besides you should’ve jumped with me.”

“It was rather large,” Bastille said, nodding away. “I’ve never seen anything like it’s size back home.”

“Not many cockroaches in Gusparand?” George asked.

“None that size,” Hastille said. “And most don’t come up to the first floor.”

“Hm,” George nodded. “I’d join too, but I don’t think we’re old enough yet.”

“Why’d you want to join?” Hastille asked, scooting closer.

“Because,” George said, leaning away and covering his pieces from Hastille’s prying eyes. “Not only will I finally eat parfaits-”

“Ha! Only those snoby southerners can afford those things.”

“-But I also want to bring Father home.”

“Auntie P, when’s he coming back again?” Hastille asked.

“A few weeks at worst dear,” Mrs Kressler replied.

“You think the war will be over soon?” Bastille asked.

“Oh yes, and I will be very happy when it does,” Mrs Kressler said loudly. “All this horrid business has gone on long enough.”  
“I thought you liked having us over, Auntie P?” Hastille said, smiling over the shoulder.

“I do dear, but I’d like my husband back much more,” she said, turning off the stove. “Now come quick, while the dinner’s still hot.”

Mrs Kressler placed a good helping of broth in each bowl and handed it out as the children took it to their seats and took the first spoonful. It was only a minute's work, but a great deal of sweat and tears were shed as, once again, Mrs Kressler had made it much too hot and poignant with onions for her children’s tastes but just perfect for Hastille and Bastille’s taste.

But before she could pour some for herself, short, curt knocks at the door announced an unannounced arrival. She frowned at the door before tentatively approaching it with a knife tucked beneath her tight sleeve.

“Who is it?” She called out.

No reply came.

Eventually, she paced back to the stove and resumed her previous actions. But before the bowl could be lifted the same knocks came again, this time followed by; “It’s me, Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth?!” Mrs Kressler exclaimed. She fritted over her dress for a moment before opening the door to reveal a portly woman clad in just her nightgown. “Good heavens, Elizabeth what are you wearing? Come inside, quickly.”

Elizabeth rubbed the warmth of the house into her arms as she gingerly walked into the living room.

“Is that Mrs Ouxfore?,” Miranda asked, coming out of the dining room with her finished bowl. “Good evening Miss Ouxfore.”

The other children followed her out and promptly gave the shivering woman a hug while Miranda cleaned her dishes.

“Hastille, Bastille, greet Mrs Ouxfore,” Mrs Kressler called out, coming in the living room’s doorway.

“Evening Mrs Ouxfore,” came the reply, but the brothers remained in the dining room to help themselves to seconds.

Perhaps it was the dismissal of Mrs Ouxfore’s presence, the horrible sounds of slurping or simply a lack of emotion in their harmonious greeting which forced Mrs Ouxfore to slump into the nearby sofa’s arm and sob in her hands.

It wasn’t until the first tear slipped out of her cupped hands that the living room’s atmosphere shifted. All of Mrs Ouxfore previous visitations to the Kressler’s abode followed a rarely deviated pattern. She would enter with a smile - sometimes with her husband - entertain the kids with stories from the old country, and usually get mad at being misunderstood. Her meek and quiet nature made it difficult for others to grasp her meaning every time she visited, but her actions were hardly a thing to be misunderstood.

“Elizabeth,” Mrs Kressler exclaimed. “What’s wrong dear?”

Mrs Kressler tried to wade past the crowd of children, but having never seen such a scene the children remained in shock.

“Give her some space, Miranda go get us a glass of water,” Mrs Kressler ordered. While they obeyed she helped the young woman into the sofa seat by the back of her elbows. She knelt before her and grasped her hands not to pull them away but simply be a reminder of her presence.

“Elizabeth, Miranda’s brought some water. Why don’t you have a sip?” She asked, motioning Miranda over.

Miranda let the glass touch her arm, as confused as the rest of her family. Things were static till Hastille and Bastille came out of the dining room. Quieter than she’d ever seen them behave, the brothers pulled the others back - taking Jameson from George - and told them to follow.

“Let’s play upstairs, out of the grown-ups’ way,” Hastille said, smiling at Jameson. Miranda cocked an eyebrow at him as Bastille led George and Melissa past her. Hastille hesitated for a moment before mouthing ‘Later’ and promptly leaving.

Throughout their exchange, Mrs Kressler tried calming Mrs Ouxfore, though there seemed to be no end to the quiet woman’s tears. Eventually, she took her hand and forced it away from her face before leaning up to embrace her.

“Shh, dear. Not in front of the children,” Mrs Kressler softly whispered and repeated, till the tears stopped.

Mrs Kressler cursed to herself, she’d neglected to notice the dishevelled hair and the red-laced eyes of her friend when she first came in. She didn’t want her children to see and hoped with all her heart that their positions wouldn’t reverse in a few days when her husband failed to return.

“Miranda, leave the mug here and go with the others,” she said sternly. Miranda obeyed like a servant, till she reached the stairs. She raced up them, taking 2 or 3 steps at a time, and ran to where everyone else was. But the moment she reached the doorway all her energy was sucked away.  
“-the end,” Bastille said, closing the book. They were in their parent’s room, with Jameson sleeping in his cot by the bed. Bastille placed the book back on their side-table and led them all to their room. Everyone followed without comment, till Miranda couldn’t wait any longer.

“Well? What’s happening downstairs?”

Hastille huffed and poked her side, hard.

“Ow, what was that for?” she said, backing away and rubbing her side.

“Yes, let’s talk right next to the baby why don’t we!” he shouted in a whispered.

“In here,” Bastille said. When everyone was settled on their bed he began; “Someone from Mrs Ouxfore’s family died.”

“What?” George and Melissa said.

“Either it's her mother or her husband. I’m guessing he was due to come back today,” Hastille added, closing the door behind us.

“Wait does that mean daddy could be-”

“Don’t talk like that,” Hastille admonished. “It’s unnecessary to worry beforehand. You wouldn’t be able to sleep if you did.”

“Hey, this is about our father. We have to know if something happened to him,” George said. He felt anger bubbling at that, but a look into his cousin’s eyes cooled it off.

“What happened?” Miranda meekly asked.

“We went through something similar, we...yeah, that’s it,” Hastille said, rubbing his hands together.

The Kressler children sat in silence, letting the heavy implications hang in the air. Mrs Ouxfore was a dear friend of the family, and the idea of her losing someone was to them as losing a distant relative was to others, or so they thought.

“Enough of this, we should just hear it in the morning rather than waste the night thinking about it,” Bastille said. “Come on, there are some games here we can play to pass the time.”

Meanwhile, downstairs in the Kressler house, Mrs Ouxfore had finally finished retelling the unfortunate circumstances that led to her being on their front steps.

“Did they return his body?” Mrs Kressler asked, slowly getting up.  
Mrs Ouxfore shook her head. “They’re keeping…” her followed Mrs Kressler back to the kitchen “all the bodies at an outpost nearby. Oh, Penn what should I do?”

“It’s nothing complicated,” Mrs Kressler said, turning on the tap. She spoke over the sounds of splashing and scrubbing as she began cleaning the dishes. “Tomorrow I will accompany you and together we will go to the outpost to take your husband back. I think old Mr Burton might have a carriage we can use. Hopefully, he’s returned tonight.”

The cluttering of plates and the scratching of nails against the metal became erratic with every passing second until it prompted Mrs Ouxfore closer.

“If Mr Kressler returns earlier than midnight, t-then maybe then he can accompany us as well. Wouldn’t that be most agreeab-” Mrs Kressler’s voice hitched and her hands trembled as she leaned against the sink for support. Mrs Ouxfore placed her hands on her friend's, moving her away from the clattering plates and closing the rushing tap.

“It’s okay, he’ll return soon. Penn-”

“Penelope!” Mrs Kressler shouted, her face remaining as impassive as ever. “Please. Mr Kressler calls me Penn. And I don’t take kindly from being interrupted in my work.”

She made to turn and as she did Mrs Ouxfore heard just the faintest of whispers; “It keeps me calm.”

Just then another knock on the door startled them both. Neither expected anyone, but based on her previous experience Mrs Kressler had a good suspicion on who it could be.

So when the door swung to reveal a man it came as a shock to them both.

“Mr Burton, what a nice surprise?” she smiled. “We were just talking about you.”

“...Good evening, Mrs Kressler, and my greatest apologies Mrs Ouxfore,” Mr Burton replied solemnly. He stood in his military attire still, sporting heavy bags underneath his eyes.

“Thank you.”  
“When ah-when did you return?” Mrs Kressler asked, nursing the hope building in her chest.

“Just landed this morning,” he replied. “H-how are the kids?”

“Well, they are well,” she said urgently, feeling it dwindle. “They’re just eating broth if you’d like to come in and join us.”

“N-no it’s alright. I wouldn’t want to take much of your time,” Mr Burton took off his cap and tucked it underneath his armpit. “Can you step outside for a moment?”

“Alright, is something wrong?” she frowned, feeling something amiss and very wrong but still holding onto a small thread of hope. Mrs Ouxfore closed the door behind them as she stood by the porch and they on the street.

Everything told her she was going to dislike whatever Mr Burton had to say. Oh, how true she was. It was a proper display of her superior cognitive abilities. The last time it had been displayed as such had saved Melissa from a bone-breaking injury. This time; however, the circumstances were much direr.

In the following seconds of Mr Burton informing her of her husband’s passing, Mr Burton’s only relief was that she was outside the house. At least the news would not reach her children till the next morning, giving them another night of sound sleep. Something he had not and will not have for a long time despite his return home. Unfortunately, he did not see Miranda peering down at him from the lone first-floor window.

Mr Burton was willing to lend Mrs Kessler his shoulder for as long as she needed support but did not anticipate she would take it as an insult. She pushed him away, choosing to cry on her knees than take either his or Mrs Ouxfore’s shoulder for support.

For many inhabitants of Sutherland, this eve was very much different from the norm. For some, it was a moment of quiet relief and quick celebration. For many, this eve marked the beginning of a harsh and lonely winter. But for Mrs Kessler this evening marked the beginning of a change - an unbalanced chemistry in her mind which had been thus far in equilibrium with her husband’s last words. Gone was the strong and meticulous woman, replaced by a broken and hurting widow. Because when the words which cajoled her to sleep turned out to be meaningless the moment Mr Kressler had stepped out of their home her bleak livelihood had just turned uglier.

‘I’ll return shortly,’ the parting words of Mr Kressler rung in her head.

Her world narrowed to focus only on the uniform of Mr Burton, a uniform she will see her dead husband in. In her throes against reality, her refusal to accept her loss made her very tired and soon she succumbed to weakness and promptly fell asleep.


	2. The Other Kressler's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relatives, come to visit. A little bit of worldbuilding.

The people of Eldegard breathed grey air. In the following days since the first wagons rolled in, a game of chance had begun for many awaiting mothers and daughters. Would they return? Would their son's or husbands? Brothers or uncles? or even close cousins; come back on their feet...or their backs. A gasp of short breath, a shiver of excitement, and a thundering of hearts would accompany those that approached the door. Half the celebrations were false adverts because many men-like Mr Burton-were not returning as victors, but as message bearers - carrying the last words of their brother-in-arms.

Such were the circumstances that had created the greyish air amongst the people of Eldegard and many people coped with it differently. Some cried the first few days and several remained in grief for the several next, only to go away without notice. The remaining few met for dinner, finding solace with their remaining friends or family.

Those with children were obligated to remain strong in the face of the bad news, but many were unable to. Those with mothers were obligated to remain passive, even if their heart hurt worse than theirs'. Some, who were able, fell into a routine of sorts; taking care of the children, cleaning the house, shopping etc. it occupied the mind from the painful reminder outside the window. It was the children themselves - that understood what’d happened but were too young to put it into words - that found it best to move on, for amongst the sadness of loss laid the comfort of routine and the support of strong pillars.

Perhaps it was for the reason of empathy which they came over or was it worry for the sort of presence their children would be subjected to now that Henry Kressler had died which called them to visit or maybe a mix of pity and compassion drove Margret and Anthony Kressler to visit the Kressler Household.

Hastille and Bastille were ecstatic when the familiar bell chimes of their father’s carriage played outside the house. But that ecstasy was quickly robbed by the sullen atmosphere haunting the downstairs. Doubts began to seem into their minds. Could the brothers be allowed to feel, and much more so, to express such happiness when they’d just lost a relative? Was it appropriate to feel such emotion in a household ridden with its antithesis? These questions, ultimately, were laid to rest when Mrs. Kressler approached the door.

It was a quiet affair; hugs and kisses went around as smiles were overlaid with tears for the late Mr. Kressler’s. Mr. Anthony Kressler and the children sat over by the fire while both Mrs. Kresslers brought the refreshments over.

“They’re behaving themselves here?” Mr. Anthony asked Miranda after she handed him a plate.

“They are, sir,” Miranda smiled.

“Don’t call me that,” Mr. Anthony Kressler said, waving his hand.

“It makes me feel like you’re a client waiting for a check-up. I’d rather you call me uncle or something ...you know what, if your feeling really formal and insist upon it you can call me by my clinic name."

"What's that?"

"What people usually say once they've been cured, it goes a bit like this; ‘oh my good sire of perfect teeth, groomed hair, and clean wares’ followed by some pleasantries and gratitudes.” That earned him a torrent of giggles and a snort from Melissa and George.

“They’ve been delightful to have Anthony,” Mrs Kressler said quietly.

“Do we have to leave for home?” Hastille asked.

“Um, we’ll talk about that later,” Mr. Anthony said with another swish of hand.

“Penelope, where did you get those figurines? I don’t remember seeing them last,” Margret asked, nodding towards a row of odd shapes on the mantle of the fireplace.

"Obviously in the time in-between those visits," Mrs. Kressler said.

Her words fell on deaf ears as they focused on the figurines.

Six figures adorned the stone mantel. A bear, twisted from its stomach to roar at the sky. A ram with horns, twisting three times out of its head. A bee with a 2-inch long sting. Two flamingos joined their heads to create a heart with their necks and finally a shoebill looking straight ahead.

“Miss Arterofortuna gave them to me, they’re gifts. They soothe me, so don’t break them,” she said sternly.

“Oh come on, Penelope, we won’t do anything of the sort-”

“Then why are you going towards them.”

“To look?”

“You can look from Mr. Kressler’s seat, thank you very much.”

“Okay...”

The wave of sadness returned to the youth, sitting witness to the biting reminder of Mrs. Kressler's sudden personality change.

Mr Anthony leaned back on his seat and after partaking in some refreshments, maintaining his large gut, began with a clap; “Did I even tell you the tale of the Bo’hr Tree?” Upon denial he continued; “It was a story my brother and I used to listen to as kids. On those long nights on the ship, coming over to this new land. A tailor, a jeweller, a woodcutter and a beggar decide to spend a night in the woods...”

He continued for the next 2 hours, telling of some fantasy stories and some personal experiences he and Mr. Kressler shared. Dinner came and went, but Mr. Anthony Kressler continued with his stories. Eventually, when the youngest of the children, Jameson, began to doze off he switched to a lullaby and finally stopped when the child had been put to sleep in the nearby cott.

“Gone before us all,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I’m going to miss him.” He cut off the sob before anyone could hear and closed his eyes as he let the tears fall.

The children hugged each other and also cried in silence. But Mrs. Kressler remained as impassive as when they first arrived. She chose to focus on her figurines as she let Margret sob into her shoulder.

“Is there a point to this?” She said monotonously, after a few minutes of silence.

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere Margret quickly asked the kids to show her the upstairs. When finally alone Mr. Anthony asked; “Excuse me.”

“Your visit? All you’ve done is remind them they are no longer with a father. Now they just have more things to remember him by, more things to remind them he’s no longer here.” She continued emotionlessly.

“...I did not want them to cry, Pennelope and I do want them to remember him. That is how I will honour my family lost. Making sure he’s not forgotten,” he waved his hand. “Anyways, when do you want to hold his funeral?”

“I need some time-”

“Look at me, Penelope. I'd like to see you as we talk. Now, I don’t want to push you but it’s been a month. His body isn’t getting any better.”

“A week or two, Anthony. Just a few more.”

Anthony Kressler remained disapproving but admitted to giving her some space. Mr. Kressler on the other hand was given very little space. Considering he was enclosed in a small box in Miss Arterofortuna’s basement.

When Penelope took a carriage ride with Mrs. Ouxfore and other neighborly women to the army outpost she denied the army’s cortege and funeral service for her husband, instead choosing to collect him at a later time. Wanting silence she walked her way back and along the way she came upon the shop of _Untold Secrets and Blessings of Beings_. By a twist of fate and a desire to put her mind elsewhere, she walked in. Whatever occurred behind closed doors of Miss Arterofortuna led to the newly widowed Penelope Kressler marching back to the army outpost and demanding her husband’s body be sent to Miss Arterofortuna’s shop. Of course none of this ever made it to anyone outside the army. Like everyone else, even Mr. Burton assumed her grief had overriden her and she was hurting inside.

But what no one could fathom was she was nursing a new hope. Something she’d gift to her children in the few weeks she’d garnered from Mr. Anthony. She could see him moving his mouth again and was promptly broken out of her recollections.

“Excuse me, I didn’t hear you,” she asked.

“Would it trouble you much to continue looking after them? My wife would never ask you, but things back in Gusparand are not well. The savages have broken into New Chimera’s main settlements and I fear it is only a matter of time before everyone in Gusparand has to be conscripted. Hopefully, by then, I’ll be too old to be considered, but Hastille and Bastille will still be young enough to join. For the same reasons as I didn’t want Henry to go, I don’t want them in Gusparand in case conscription happens.”

“You know their wishes were to join their uncle in battle,” she asked lightly.

“Obviously,” he snorted. “That display of power would capture any young one’s attention. They’re just too blinded by the shiny coats and bits of metal. By camaraderie and a feeling of belonging. They’re getting exactly what they want here with their cousins just as well they would in the military but without the danger of death anytime soon.”

“Of course, they can stay here. But...the money-”

“Taken care of,” he said, bringing out a small bag of coins. “This should help for the next few months. By then, hopefully, we’ll have moved down here.”

“Thank you, I do hope to remain in this house though. I’ve already set this as his resting place.”

“You intend to bury him here?” He asked in surprise.

“No, not here. But nearby,” she said, staring at the flamingo figurines. “But his spirit will rest here.”

“Hmm, Okay...,” Mr. Anthony said nodding to himself. He stood up. “I’ll just go and get Margret to tell her the plans.”

“Do you wish to stay the night?”

“...Yes, that would be lovely.” He said, staring at her.

“When you wish to leave?”

“I-uh-I get the feeling you don’t want us here, Penelope,” he smiled approachingly.

“I don’t, I’d rather be alone if at all possible. I’ve tolerated your presence till now Anthony, not liked it.”

Mr. Anthony Kressler stood for a moment, slack-jawed in his expression. He grimaced and nodded to himself a few times as if accepting it. He looked up at the stairs leading and then back at the Penelope a few times before he whistled till his breath finished and climbed up to the first floor.

Perhaps it was what she’d said that made him so quick in his judgement but that night he told his son’s that they were going to stay with Mrs. Kressler for a while longer, and smiled at their excitement while hiding the pain in his chest. His wife and he argued that night, but thankfully even they had to sleep sometime. By the following morning, everyone knew Mr. Kressler wanted to leave as soon as possible for it showed in the manner he conducted his business. Fortunately for the adults, the children remained happy and paid it little interest.

If only they hadn't.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story, probably only a few chapters long of similar length. Enid Blyton's writing style inspired this, everything else is mine.  
> The UP in teen and up is emphasized.


End file.
